Snowbound
by Kit Simmons
Summary: Set after QAF2(UK) -- the lads head North (WIP)...Chapter 3 now uploaded
1. Default Chapter

**SNOWBOUND**  


  
  
"Christ!" screamed Stuart as the Jeep swerved across the centre line, narrowly avoiding oncoming traffic, for approximately the ninth time in as many minutes. "How the FUCK do these bloody Yanks stand all this mess?!"   
  
Stuart was in a mood. Things - namely the weather - weren't going exactly to his liking, which was never anything the Irishman dealt with well.  
  
"Canadians, Stuart," corrected Vince. "And slow down! You'll have us killed. It's only snow - just mind the road."  
  
"It is NOT just snow Vince. I've seen snow. This is a bloody blizzard."  
  
Stuart's 'blizzard' was nothing more than a seasonal flurry that had, nevertheless, created some rather dodgy driving conditions.  
  
"D'you suppose that's why they call it the Great White North, then?   
  
"What?"   
  
Not to be frazzled by Stuart's snarkiness, Vince continued.   
  
"Canada - d'you suppose that's why it's called the Great White North? All that snow? It's brilliant really. It's like a whole different world. I mean it's really only America - more polite, mind. But the country itself. Could drive for days up here and never see anyone. Blimey! I wonder if we'll see any of those Canadian Police blokes - the ones in the red uniform. A sight better than our stodgy ol' Constables, I bet. Wouldn't mind at all being detained by a big strapping lad dressed up like that. And those boots - phwoooar! Could do without the hat, mind. I heard they call them Mounties. Wonder what, exactly, it is they mount?" Vince giggled at his own double entendre.   
  
Stuart couldn't help himself; Vince's twittering always made him giggle, but the Mountie comment had elicited an all-out laugh.   
  
"They're Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Vince. They ride on horseback, y'twat! The horse is the mount…not the copper." He tried to sound stern, but it was too late - he'd already boarded Vince's train of thought. "Could do with a Canadian shag, though. Wouldn't be so bad mounting a Mountie."  
  
Vince quieted at that. Despite having been each other's sole company for the past five months, the boyhood friends had remained just that - friends. They may not have been out on Canal Street every night, but the patterns hadn't changed. Drinks, dancing (when they were somewhere populated enough to house an establishment with a dance floor) and a frustrated Vince left to longingly watch his best friend cop off with the prettiest local. 'Sad bastard,' he thought - an audible sigh the only evidence his cheerful mood had changed.   
  
"Vince. Vince - where'd you go? I asked you a question!" demanded Stuart, instantly dissolving Vince's reverie.  
  
"Sorry. What?"   
  
"Check the map, would ya. How much further before we're at the lodge?"  
  
"Umm...hang on a tic," mumbled Vince, furrowing his brow as he studied the well-worn road atlas.  
  
"If we're here" he indicated by pointing at the map, "then we're almost to Yellowknife," he deduced happily.  
  
"Ehm - exactly how far is 'almost' Vince? Care to translate that into an actual measure of space. Time or distance. I'm not fussy - either one will do nicely."  
  
"Oh shut it Stuart." Vince cut him off, a grin creeping back across his boyishly handsome face.   
  
"Another hour and we should be there. Unless, of course, you feel the need to keep up these Barry Sheen speeds. Then we'll most likely be there in ten minutes or so. 'Course we're bound to be wrapped around the bonnet of an oncoming lorry long before that happens."  
  
"Christ Vince. Quit being such a big girl's blouse and relax, would ya! When's the last time you had a good shaftin'? 'Cause I think its high time you had another." For Stuart, the comment had only been meant as a quick dig. But to Vince, the jab hit a bit too close to home.   
  
Vince dropped his head, leaning against the window, and stared straight ahead into falling snow. Truth be told it had been months, he realized. Not since Cameron. 'Christ! Had it really been that long? What the hell was he waiting for? Prince Charming? 'Course not. No one would ever confuse Stuart Allan Jones with a fairy tale prince. No one but Vince Tyler.' Stuart's words still echoed in his head _"You never know, Vince. You might finally get that shag."_ He was taking the piss, of course. He always was when he said things like that, Vince thought glumly.  
  
"C'mon, Vince - when?" Stuart continued. "When's the last time you got a good hard cock up the arse?" his voice dropped, pronouncing his lilt. "When's the last time someone made you cum so hard you forgot your name?"   
  
Oh shit - not this, thought Vince. 'Not the patented Stuart Jones sex interrogation. And not in that seductive I-know-how-desparately-you-want-me-Vince-and-I-know-I'm-driving-you-mad voice.' His heart rate had jumped the minute Stuart started asking about his last shag. That's all it took. Sad bastard, indeed.  
  
"Gone awfully quiet, Vince" Stuart purred, trailing his fingertips up Vince's thigh. "Has it been that long?" Vince shuddered as though some electric current had been emitted from Stuart's digits and was now slowly marching toward his cock. "Has it?"   
  
"Been a while," mumbled Vince.   
  
"How long's a while, Vince?   
  
Vince cautiously glanced at his predatory friend. Stuart's eyes were darting back and forth between the road and Vince, lingering much longer on his flustered passenger than on the snow-slick road. His fingers continued their teasing path to the top of Vince's thigh, making the uneasy Englishman even more trepidatious.  
  
"What's all this in aid of Stuart?" Vince muttered, desperately trying to keep his voice steady.   
  
"Just curious, is all." Stuart's hand was a fraction away from caressing Vince's straining, overheated crotch. "You're the one mentioned Barry Sheen - thought you might fancy finishing that wank."  
  
"Oh give off Stuart! Look - there's the exit for Yellowknife!" Vince sounded almost jubilant. 'Oh. My. God.' That was too close, thought Vince. 'We'll just check in, get Stuart fed, put a few cocktails into him and send him off after the nearest good-looking bloke. Blimey, but he gets randy when he's bored.'   
  


***** 

  
Stuart manoeuvred the jeep through the narrow streets of the small town, cursing anyone who exhibited the audacity to actually travel at the posted speed limit.   
  
"Chateau Nova, Stuart! Look there it is!" Vince shouted, desperate to keep the lusty Irishman's thoughts - and hands - clear of his own crotch.  
  
"Good, I'm half starved. Let's get our room and find someplace to eat."  
  
"D'you suppose we can get a curry here Stuart?"  
  
"Vince, luv - try and expand your horizons would you? At least _try_ to be a bit adventurous. Give the local cuisine a go."  
  
"Caribou curry?" Vince asked, deadpan - his face as stoic as he could manage.  
  
Like schoolboys, the pair exploded into a fit of giggles. And as Stuart pulled the Jeep to a stop, he lowered his forehead against Vince's - his eyes smouldering with a look usually reserved for his nightly conquest - and let his hands softly caress his friend's shoulders.  
  
Vince, instantly on sensory overload, tensed under Stuart's fingertips. Afraid to break this cherished eye contact - eye contact that usually warmed him to his toes but, this time, made him swallow nervously - Vince simply smiled and waited for Stuart to finish whatever game it was he was playing.  
  
"What would I do without you, Vince?" Stuart breathed. His eyes sparkled with something Vince didn't quite recognize and before he had a chance to clock it, Stuart lowered his lips and captured Vince's in a searing kiss. Not one of those drunken Vince-you're-my-best-mate kisses, either. This was a full on snog and Vince was beside himself. Despite his brain's first reaction to panic, his body took over and he allowed himself to melt into Stuart's kiss. Liquid heat coursed through his veins and he instinctively responded, allowing his lips to part and give access to Stuart's gently probing tongue.   
  
Time stood still as Vince lost himself in Stuart's taste. His mind had shut down and he allowed himself to explore the sweet, warm confines of his friend's mouth. A moan escaped him as he felt Stuart's hands leave his shoulders and slowly undo the zipper on his parka. As their tongues continued this exquisite dance, Stuart worked the shirt from the top of Vince's jeans and was slowly grazing his fingers across the trembling man's stomach.  
  
'Oh. My. God. What's he like?' Vince grasped Stuart's shoulders and hesitantly pushed him away, his face flushed and his hands shaking.  
  
"Fine!" spat Stuart as he jumped from the Jeep and slammed the door. Stuart Allan Jones did not do rejection - and it did not sit well that he faced it constantly with his best friend.   
  
"Shit." Vince uttered under his breath. Now Stuart was hungry and pissed off. God help me, thought Vince. He steadied his breathing and opened the car door.  
  
"C'mon, then - let's get going!" snapped Stuart. "Bound to be a few lonely blokes around town in need of a good shaftin'. Best be getting to it."  
  
Yeah. And while you're doing that, I'll just toss off in the shower with visions of that snog, Vince thought miserably. 'Christ - don't want to let Stuart be privy to that sort of information, though. Never hear the end of it.' It was true, though. How many lonely nights had Vince spent, his only solace being his near photographic memory and his ability to lose himself in the blissful reflection of something as simple as a hug or a conversation - or whatever token gesture of affection Stuart had bestowed upon him. Wouldn't be so bad if those memory jogs didn't always lead to the same place - a desperate, disheartened wank punctuated with Stuart's name.  
  
Vince let out a dejected sigh and grabbed their luggage from the back of the Jeep.  
  
  
...TBC 


	2. Chapter 2

  


**SNOWBOUND**  
(part 2)

  
  
  
  
"This is what you call a 'lodge', then, is it Stuart?" Vince marveled as they entered the impressive lobby of what he could only assume was a new addition to the small town. The front doors had seemed austere, but what they opened to was nothing short of grand. Invitingly elegant sofas and chairs, with throw cushions set to match the slate floor tiling, were arranged around a room subtly decorated with glass-top, wrought-iron tables and a wealth of greenery and foliage that reached from floor to ceiling.   
  
"Not too shabby, wot?" Stuart was pleased with Vince's reaction; his earlier mood dissolving at the site of that golden smile. He'd found the place online, but knew you could never quite be sure until you saw a place for yourself.  
  
Vince gaped openly at his surroundings. "Never would have expected something so posh out here in the middle of nowhere," he grinned.  
  
"It's not exactly posh Vince - you're just easy," he answered, then mumbled "most of the time"  
  
"Sorry?" Vince wondered at that last comment. Did Stuart find him difficult to be around after all these months on the road? Was he meaning to send him off now that he'd grown bored with him? 'Shit - should've just let him have his fun… played his little game out there in the Jeep. What would it've cost me? Other than the humiliation of having to wander into a hotel lobby trying desperately to hide a raging hard-on while Stuart strutted about completely unaffected - nothing, really. It's only pride, Vince. Not like you haven't swallowed it many a time before,' he silently chastised.  
  
Ignoring Vince, Stuart sauntered over to the reception desk, making sure to let his natural gait rivet his confused friend's attention. Nobody moved like Stuart Alan Jones. Many tried to imitate his panther-like grace, but none managed to perfect the animalistic sensuality that came to him so instinctively. His hips rolled naturally and of their own accord - nothing was ever calculated or premeditated about his movements. He was simply blessed with a walk that invited sex - much to Vincent Tyler's chagrin.   
  
Vince had spent 16 years following that walk. And with each passing year, he felt more and more compelled to follow. He watched Stuart casually lean against the counter and switch into outrageous-flirt mode, despite the fact that the lobby receptionist was clearly straight (_"just details, Vince"_ Stuart would always say.) 'The man really could charm the pants off of just about anyone,' thought Vince. 'Wouldn't be a complete shock to see the unsuspecting desk clerk bin a wife and kids for a carnal walk on the wild side with our Mr. Jones, ad exec-at-large.'  
  
There was little that Ray, the straight-but-wavering desk clerk, could do to hide the crimson blush on his face as he handed over the room key to Stuart. "Enjoy your stay Mr. Jones," he managed.  
  
"Oh I'm sure I will… Ray," Stuart offered a lascivious wink, then sashayed off toward the bank of elevators where Vince stood with their luggage.  
  
'Christ,' thought Vince. 'The man spends nine hours behind the wheel of a car and not only does he still manage to stay polished and look dazzling, but now he's converting a small-town straight boy. I spend nine hours in the passenger seat and I'm hard pressed to outshine the homeless bloke I slipped a tenner to last week in Toronto.'  
  
"C'mon Vince, let's check out our new home," Stuart grinned cheerfully with a lecherous waggle of his eyebrows. "Ray says there's a Jacuzzi - how 'bout it?"  
  
Vince chuckled and shook his head. 'Once a flirt, always a flirt,' he thought. 'Wouldn't be surprised if Stuart were completely unaware of his effect on people. It's like he's on autopilot,' thought Vince. 'Small wonder he has no worries when it comes to pulling a different bloke every night of the week.'  
  
A bright chime announced the arrival of the elevator and the two were welcomed by a cheerful redhead whose job, it appeared, was simply to accompany hotel guests from one floor to another.  
  
"Welcome to Chateau Nova," she smiled, quickly giving her attentions over to Stuart. "My name's Heather and if there's anything I can do for you during your stay, feel free to ask."  
  
"Hello Heather," Stuart offered his hand, which she happily shook - and was, not surprisingly, reticent to let go. "Actually…now that you mention it, there is something I could use some help with…some advice, really. If you wouldn't mind."  
  
"Sure!" Heather was wiggling and preening, showing about as much restraint as a puppy greeting its new owner after a long day.  
  
'This can only end badly,' thought Vince as he braced himself and waited for Stuart to continue.  
  
"Well," Stuart furthered, his voice now seductively lowered - head cocked slightly to one side, and a wicked grin plastered across his face. "I've been trying to convince Vince here that he needs shaggin'. He's always after turning me down. I'm beginnin' to think it's personal, like. What d'ya think I should do?"  
  
"Stuart!" Vince hissed, a blush creeping quickly across his face.  
  
"Ummm…." Heather stammered, not sure how to respond, but doing her best to maintain composure. "Well…umm…I'm sure it's nothing…uhh…personal, sir."  
  
"Yeah," he drawled, licking his lips and slowly eyeing Vince from head to toe, "you're probably right about that." Stuart didn't skip a beat. "But I still think he needs it. A good shaftin', that is. Don't you think?"  
  
If Heather - and Vince, truth be told - could have clicked together their heels and transported themselves anywhere other than the Chateau Nova elevator, they'd have chosen this instant to make it so. Stuart simply giggled like a naughty schoolboy, delighting in the discomfort he'd caused.   
  
The chime of the elevator was a most welcome interruption as the trio landed at the top floor.  
  
"Take your time, Heather. Give it some thought - we can chat later," Stuart was unrelenting, the twinkle in his eyes bordering on devilish.  
  
"Sorry 'bout that" Vince whispered to the blushing girl as he nudged Stuart out into the hallway.  
  
  


***** 

  
"That was quite the performance, that." Vince glowered at Stuart.   
  
The impish Irishman ignored the scolding tone as he busied himself with the lock to their room.  
  
"That's why you love me, Vince" he grinned, planting a sloppy kiss on Vince's cheek and throwing open the door.  
  
"Never can stay mad at you, y'twat," Vince grumbled under his breath, a bright smile replacing his previous scowl. 'The man could most likely burn down my house, leave me on the street and all he'd have to do is flash that pretty little crooked smile to make me forgive him. I must be mad,' thought Vince.  
  
"So? What d'you think?" Stuart stood in the middle of the room waiting for Vince to take in his surroundings.  
  
Vince put their bags down and stepped to the middle of the room, taking in the ornate, mahogany four-poster bed with its brocade and velvet drapery - a perfect match to the loveseat and sofa that were carefully arranged to the left of a beautiful stone fireplace.  
  
"God, Stuart - it's brilliant!" Vince beamed. His eyes flittered about the room with the unabashed enthusiasm of a child.  
  
Though such feelings could never be read from his face, Stuart's heart filled at Vince's reaction. Sidling up behind his life-long friend he gracefully wrapped his arms about Vince's waist and buried his face in the hollow of his neck.  
  
"I was hoping you'd think so," he murmured, allowing a playful breath to gently caress Vince's ear. "I was beginning to think you didn't like me anymore," he teased.  
  
"Stuart, really," Vince answered, "It's brilliant. You're brilliant. This whole trip's been brilliant." He allowed himself the luxury of running his fingers across Stuart's deliciously toned forearms.   
  
"Mmmm I'm glad," Stuart breathed. 'This is home,' he thought, as he nuzzled at Vince's throat, drawing in his heady scent. 'This feeling. This man. My Vince.' Always the libertine, Stuart let his tongue dart out and trace the bottom of Vince's earlobe. Stuart Alan Jones didn't believe in denying himself pleasure and he wasn't about to start now. Running his hands across Vince's chest, he took the tantalizing flesh into his mouth and pressed his hips against the other man's firm behind.   
  
'Oh. My. God.' Vince panicked. 'He's hard! Stuart Alan Jones is grinding against MY arse and he's hard.'  
  
It wasn't as though this were a new torment for Vince to endure. Stuart had done more than his fair share of bumping and grinding up against his best friend - a raging hard on happily on display. Only, in the past, it had been done in a drunken fit of dancing - most often surrounded by a sea of onlookers and writhing bodies. Which was why Vince, in his usual self-deprecating manner, assumed Stuart's condition was simply a result of one or more of the intoxicants he'd ingested or one or more of the pretty boys who were never far from his side.  
  
But there were no intoxicants, no writhing dancers and no queue of pretty boys in this hotel room - only Stuart and Vince.   
  
"Stuart," Vince hesitated. "What're you doing?" There was a brief catch in his voice as he tried to steady his breathing.  
  
"Tasting you, Vince." He let one hand travel up under Vince's shirt, tracing a pattern around his navel, as the other gripped the unsteady man's hip. Stuart could feel his cock, already solid, nestled firmly against Vince's tight arse. He continued to rock his hips as he lazily licked his way into the hollow of Vince's collarbone. A sweetly torturous heat radiated to his every nerve ending and an unfamiliar tightness took hold in his chest.  
  
"Mmm…god, Vince. You taste like a wee bit 'o heaven."  
  
Stuart's voice had an intoxicating effect on Vince's senses at the best of times, but the contact his mouth and hands made against his sensitive flesh had his head swimming like nothing Mickey Blake could ever have cooked up.   
  
Common sense told Vince he should call a halt to this now while there was still a chance he could save face once Stuart had decided he'd had his fun and walked away from this chapter of 'torment the sad bastard.' Many nights he'd watched Stuart's game of teasing some lust-drugged admirer to the brink of insanity, only to swan off at the last minute, leaving the poor sod panting and desperate. Truth be told, Vince Tyler had been that poor sod more times than he cared to remember. Of course, Stuart could leave him a frustrated mess on a regular basis without even trying.  
  
Reason screamed at Vince to stop his wanton friend, but his will was slowly dissolving on the tip of Stuart's tongue as it worked its way back across Vince's throat.  
  
"Stuart. Please," Vince gasped.  
  
"Please what, Vince?" Stuart's hands crawled up Vince's torso, teasing his tightened nipples, and continued to grind against him.  
  
"Please don't, Stuart," he managed, his breathing now ragged and desperate. "Please," he whimpered.  
  
Stuart froze - the pleading tone of Vince's voice significantly cooling his ardour. Taking a quick step back, he ran a shaky hand through his thick, glossy curls and stared at the floor. Stuart stood silently as he gained control of his breathing.  
  
"Stuart?" Vince struggled with his rapid heartbeat.  
  
Unable to meet Vince's eyes, Stuart stood stoic and continued to stare at the floor as he nibbled at the cuticle on his pinky finger.  
  
"Stuart?" Vince tried again to break through the ominous veil shrouding Stuart's mood. Confusion was quickly killing the overwhelming lust that had frightened him only seconds earlier.  
  
"C'mon Stuart," he forced an uneasy laugh. "Let's get cleaned up and check out that local cuisine. Caribou curry - sounds good!" He clasped his hands together in mock glee - his desperation to lift Stuart out of this sudden funk becoming something palpable. He felt an ache in the pit of his stomach as his fear, that he'd done some permanent damage to their friendship, grew with each passing second.  
  
"Yeah. Could eat." Stuart finally lifted his eyes to meet Vince's. But there was something within those brilliant Irish eyes never before seen by anyone. Gone was the usual cockiness. The glint of an impending insult or scathing comment was nowhere to be seen. He cleared his throat and blinked quickly, the diamond-like sparkle of a tear evident only momentarily as he turned away from Vince.  
  
"I'll shower first and find a spot while you clean up, yeah?" he spoke over his shoulder as he disappeared into the other room.  
  
"Oh. My. God." Vince stood stiffly and stared at the closed bathroom door.  
  
  
** tbc **


	3. Chapter 3

** SNOWBOUND**  
(part 3) 

  
  
  


"Bugger…" Vince sighed as he allowed the shower's hot water to needle across his skin. 

What the hell's wrong with me, he thought. What harm could it've done to let Stuart have his little fun? Maybe he really did mean what he'd said when they'd left Manchester. Maybe he really did plan to give over that shag. 

But it was already hard enough to watch Stuart cop off with other blokes, he rationalised. It would be beyond devastating if he had to watch it after having had the shag to end all shags. It would be the death of him for certain.

Self-preservation was called for, he reasoned; and not just for himself, but for their friendship. Stuart couldn't be depended upon to use any sort of foresight when it came to reigning in his actions. In fact, he never did. Reign in his actions, that is. He simply didn't think about the consequences of anything he did – especially when it involved sex. 

"It's up to me, really," Vince told himself, squaring his shoulders as he stepped out of the shower. "Been on the road too long and he's gone a bit mad is all," he told his steamed-up reflection in the bathroom mirror. "I can manage Stuart," he added, "We'll have a nice dinner, have a laugh, maybe dance a bit. Stuart'll cop off. I'll have a wank. We'll get some sleep. And tomorrow he'll realize what a twat he's been. 

"Besides – it's not like he's completely irresistible." With his last comment, Vince could have sworn he'd seen his reflection arch a doubtful eyebrow.

"Yeah, right," he sighed. Chance'd be a fine thing. 

Wrapping himself in the plush over-sized robe he had found hanging on the back of the bathroom door, Vince wandered out into the cozy room and plopped himself onto the middle of the overstuffed loveseat.

"Comfy," he said to himself, running his hand across the soft upholstery.

The shower had steamed away a substantial amount of Vince's tension and he found himself slipping into an extremely relaxed state. His lazy mood, however, was cut short by the shrill ring of the hotel phone perched atop a nightstand to the right of the huge bed.

"Hiya Stuart," Vince answered cheerfully.

"Vince. Quit arsein' about and get dressed. I'm downstairs in the bar." Stuart sounded like his shower and, no doubt, several cocktails had significantly softened his earlier disposition.

"Why d'you assume I'm not dressed yet?"

"I can always tell when you're naked Vince," Stuart giggled.

"Oh what? By the tone of my voice?" Vince scoffed. "And besides – I'm wearing the posh robe that was in the loo. Shows what you know," he laughed.

"Yeah. But under that, you're naked Vince."

Christ, thought Vince, feeling his face turn pink as though Stuart could somehow see through both the phone line and his robe. Jesus. He's not even in the room and he can make me blush like a wee schoolgirl!

"Vince."

"Yeah." Vince cleared his throat in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner.

"Meet me in the bar. It's to the right as you get off the lift. They've a restaurant here as well. And there's actually a club next door, can you imagine? If you're nice to me, maybe I'll take you dancing," Stuart teased.

"And Vince?"

"Yes, Stuart." Vince had affected his placating parental voice by this point.

"I _can_ tell by the tone of your voice." 

Left listening to a dial tone, Vince chuckled and shrugged off his robe to don what he hoped would pass for night-on-the-town clothes in this part of the country.

* * *

Vince scanned the sparsely populated hotel bar and spotted Stuart immediately. Perched gracefully on a barstool at the far end of the room, Stuart's Armani-clad frame easily stood out as the bar's most decorative feature. How does he always manage to look so classy and sophisticated? wondered Vince. Especially when he's usually up to something completely common and crass. "Twat," Vince chuckled to himself.

The picture of cool, Stuart hoped his practiced shell of perfection and bored loveliness didn't betray the skip his heart felt the second he'd clocked Vince entering the bar. Christ, he thought. When did Vince turn into the gorgeous bloke he saw walking towards him? 

Vince's infectious grin took its toll immediately, eliciting a dazzling, if not salacious, smile from Stuart.

"Hiya!" Vince took the barstool next to his friend.

Stuart cocked his head slightly, looking up at Vince through lashes that were the envy of women and makeup artists everywhere.

"Brilliant room, yeah? Could've stayed in that shower for hours," Vince babbled, nervously, noticing that Stuart had yet to say anything. In fact, if he hadn't spent years convincing himself of the impossibility, he'd have sworn Stuart was staring – checking him out, in fact.

"Stuart? You all right? Can't be pissed already – y'haven't been down here long enough." Vince giggled uneasily.

"You look fantastic, Vince."

"Should do Stuart, you spent enough on this kit." 

Not entirely by accident, Vince had chosen an outfit that had garnered the same compliment the last time he'd worn it. Stuart definitely had impeccable taste in clothes. And he knew what suited. Vince's complexion glowed next to the chocolate brown leather jacket he wore. Matching brown trousers – of the softest fabric Vince had ever touched – and a cobalt dress shirt, that made his eyes sparkle an impossible shade of blue, completed the look.

"Yeah well… couldn't have you dressed too shabby now, could I? How would I look – as perfectly lovely as I am – in the company of someone dressed like a pauper?" 

Despite the insult, Stuart's usual scathing tone seemed absent. He was still smiling, noticed Vince. Best enjoy this and get him fed before he gets another monk on_._

"What're ya havin' Vince?"

"Thought you were starvin' Stuart. Best get you fed. Don't want you gettin' cranky before you've had a chance to check out the local blokes," Vince teased.

"I am starving. But I need another drink. I've only seen one relatively decent looking bloke since we arrived…and he thinks he's straight. Might be fun to show the lad the error of his ways, mind," Stuart snickered.

"Not like it'd be the first time you'd be responsible for corrupting some unsuspecting bloke," Vince added, a mental picture of little boy Nathan instantly flashing before him.

"Be doing him a favour, really." Stuart flashed a grin capable of melting the polar icecaps. "Dunno if I'm feeling that generous, though. And I'd sooner have a wank than cop off with some over-sized minger dressed in head-to-toe flannels."

"Blimey! Someone best call 999 – or is it 911 here? No, that's in America. Wonder what it is in Canada? Whatever it is, we'd best ring immediately. Stuart Alan Jones has finally found someplace he couldn't cop off!" Vince couldn't stop laughing. Stuart, on the other hand, calmly aimed a 1000-watt smile at his jovial friend.

"Never said I _couldn't_ Vince… said I might not want to. There is a difference you know."

"And since when do you not _want_ to cop off, Stuart? Since you were 14, there hasn't been a bloke say no to you."

"That's because I'm lovely, Vince. I've told you that before. And it's not true anyway."

"What – you're no longer lovely?"

"Don't be daft, Vince. Of course I'm still lovely," Stuart batted his eyelashes. 

"So you're telling me that you – Stuart Alan Jones, Manchester's champion shagger – have actually had a lad tell you no? C'mon Stuart. We've been friends for 16 years. I've seen you at the clubs. _I've_ never seen anyone turn you down," Vince continued to rib his friend.

"'Course you haven't ya twat." …_that's 'cause you're the one always turning me down_…

* * *

After knocking back several rounds of pre-dinner cocktails, Stuart and Vince decided that dinner was an immediate necessity and the two headed off toward the hotel dining room – which was, conveniently, situated just on the opposite side of the main lobby.

"Shit Vince, lookit that!" Stuart exclaimed.

"I've seen the lad Stuart. And, yes, he's nice. And, yes, I think he's straight. And, yes, I'm sure you'llave no problem 'avin' 'im." Vince's Mancunian accent had thickened significantly as a result of the several pints he'd hoisted with his mate.

"Not the bloke behind the desk, Vince – the one waiting for the lift. Looks like one of those Mountie's you've been goin' on about. Not bad either!"

Stuart grabbed Vince by the hand and marched purposefully across the lobby toward the man in question. 

"Hiya – Stuart Jones. This here's Vince… Vince – say hi," Stuart nudged his friend toward the tall, stoic-looking man.

"Hiya," Vince managed, trying desperately to maintain his balance. 

"Benton Fraser, RCMP," replied the Mountie, politely shaking both their hands.

Stuart stood back, letting his gaze wander from Vince to the gorgeous stranger. Obviously his none-too-subtle advances toward Vince were getting him nowhere. So, perhaps, the introduction of this lovely stranger – combined with Vince's current state of intoxication – would be enough to orchestrate a wickedly, lovely evening of group fun. 

"What d'you think, Vince?" Stuart leaned in against his friend, letting his breath tease the teetering man's ear.

"Already said, Stuart," Vince felt his equilibrium about to falter and grabbed at Stuart's waist to avoid falling into the confused Mountie. 

"Vince and I were just headed in to have a bite," Stuart leered, "D'you fancy joinin' us, then?"

"Well, I was actually about to join my friend Ray," he nodded toward the reservations desk, "but I'm sure he would love the chance to make both your acquaintances. Thank you, kindly."

"Brilliant," Stuart responded, "Vince and I'll go on ahead and grab a table. You go on and grab… Ray," he purposefully added a lecherous tone to the absent man's name.

"C'mon Vince, me lad… looks like this evening could get interesting." Stuart flashed a devilish grin as he ushered his friend toward the restaurant.

* * *

Seated at a cozy corner booth, Stuart and Vince watched as their dinner companions walked through the restaurant door and headed toward the table.

"Oi, Vince! Look at that — "

"They look like James Dean and a porn version of Sergeant Preston," Vince giggled. Another bottle of wine had kept the two company while they awaited their guests and sobriety was now a very distant memory.

"Maybe later we can arrange our own private viewing, yeah?" Stuart whispered conspiratorially as he leaned into Vince, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with his alcohol consumption.

"Always fancied James Dean," Stuart continued to lean against his suddenly silent friend, letting his palm rest against a tightly tensed thigh, "bet those long legs'd look fantastic thrown over my shoulders, yeah?"

Two gorgeous blokes, Vince thought miserably. Two of them. He'd watched this particular show before and was already all too familiar with its ending. Stuart scores a brilliant threesome, whilst poor, pathetic Vince watches in admiration_. _Well, not this time, he thought. He knew how the rest of the evening would be played out and knew that he was only a peripheral character… Stuart's constant devoted audience of one. Sod that!

"I'm off," Vince stood suddenly, shrugging off Stuart's roaming hand. 

"Vince, what're you on about?" 

"No need for me here!" Vince spat, " I'll just leave now, shall I? Avoid the awkward need for signals and hand gestures and the sort later on."

And, with that, Vince sped out of the restaurant leaving behind a flustered Stuart – not to mention two terribly confused Canadians.

* * *

I must be mad, thought Vince. Really bollocking mad. Should have bloody-well listened to Stuart when he'd said, _No passengers, Vince. _

A sick feeling threatened to overwhelm Vince's senses as he fumbled for the room key. Convincing himself to take a deep breath, he managed – albeit, with shaking hands – to let himself into the darkened, empty room. Let the bastard take his shags elsewhere, he thought as he pulled the door behind him, locking it soundly.

Stumbling toward the sofa, Vince realized that his legs weren't the most stable means of transportation and he momentarily contemplated dropping to all fours and crawling the short distance. But the more he thought about Stuart with the two men they'd met earlier, the angrier he became. And that anger somehow managed to temporarily clear the drink-induced fog that was impairing his faculties. Of course, the clarity only lasted long enough for Vince to make it to his intended target. And, as the fog rolled back in, he dropped to the couch and let his thoughts swim unfettered.

Imagining the worst possible scenario, Vince pictured Stuart arriving back at the room – his shags in tow – and demanding Vince let them in. Sod that, thought Vince. I'm here and I'm spending the night here. They can bloody well take their arses elsewhere! 

Desperately trying to focus long enough to find the television remote he knew had to be somewhere within reach, Vince scrambled about until he found the small device. He clicked the set to life and mindlessly switched from one channel to the next. Nothing but infomercials and bad music videos and… wait – what's this? Porn? Blimey, even in this small town, he marveled. "Shit," he muttered to himself, "straight porn." And the bloke just happens to look like Stuart, he realized miserably.

Aiming at the set, Vince flicked the offending images away and dejectedly let the remote drop to the floor. But the pornographic visual – despite its being of the hetero variety – of the man resembling his long-unrealized lust, was enough to set his mind wandering down a very familiar path. Images of Stuart, naked and golden, permeated his brain. His heart and his hormones took over, as they usually did when he was alone, allowing his anger to be overwritten by desire. Letting his head fall back into the plush upholstery, Vince's fingertips slowly grazed highly-sensitized nipples. And, as a phantom Stuart wove his erotic spell, Vince allowed his hand to drop toward his overheated groin. His hips slowly thrust into the heel of his palm and he allowed a breathless sigh to escape his lips.

"— Vince! What the fuck was all that about??" Stuart slammed into the room, interrupting Vince's moment of solitude.

Shit… he's got another key, realized Vince, grateful that he'd not gotten further in his slow self-seduction.

"Christsakes, Vince!" 

Vince could hear Stuart's enraged attempts at manoeuvering the room in the dark and took the opportunity to reassemble his wits. 

"Piss off Stuart," he mumbled.

"Oi! What's your problem, then? I go out of my way to arrange a perfectly wonderful shag and you swan off before the deal's even put on the table!"

"So why've you bothered chasin' after me, then. You've left a perfectly wonderful shag to come up here and have a go at me?" Vince didn't try to hide the exasperation in his voice.

"Well, ehm… it's a little hard to arrange a foursome when the fourth person fucks off like a bitchy little girl."

"So this one was gonna involve me was it, Stuart?" Something in Vince snapped, spilling 16 years of dejection, rejection and pain into an unexpected barrage.

"Decided that it was that time again to try adding poor, pathetic Vince to your roster, then? Only, how come anytime you decide its time to add me to your list of conquests, there needs to be a supporting cast? What exactly is it about Vince Tyler that makes him so unshaggable, Stuart?"

"Vince, calm down… I just said I wanted you to play along didn't I?" Stuart's voice faltered slightly and his volume dropped significantly.

"Oh fuck off Stuart! You've had 'em all, haven't ya? Only you haven't had me! So what is so bloody horrible about me that I'm the only bloke who's not joined the I've-shagged-Stuart-Alan-Jones club? Didn't half wanna shag you Stuart… long time ago…" Vince realized that Stuart had stopped trying to interrupt him and was now staring at him with an expression he couldn't quite clock.

"I've watched you cop off with every bloke in Manchester. So why is it that the only way you can even imagine me bein' one of them is as part of a team effort? Why the fuck am I the one needs to watch you take home every pretty boy you're cock sends you after? That's the reason I'm here, isn't it, Stuart? Ready-made audience. What the FUCK is wrong with me, Stuart!

Vince's anger had long-since dissipated his alcohol-induced fog and it was well on its way to depleting all of his remaining energy. His shoulders slumped as he quietly continued, "Sixteen years, Stuart… sixteen years…" Vince raked a trembling hand through the dark golden spikes of his hair.

Stuart stepped forward, slowly attempting an approach toward his irate friend. He reached out and placed a tentative hand on Vince's shoulder. Vince looked up and met his friend's eyes. "Am I really that bloody disgusting to you, Stuart?"

"Is that what you think, Vince? Really?" Stuart managed, through clenched teeth. "You honestly believe that, after all this time, I'd still be around? Jesus Christ, Vince!" Stuart grabbed Vince's wrist, forcing the palm of his hand into his own already-straining crotch. "Does that feel like disgust, Vince?"

Blinking, in what felt like slow motion, Vince stood spellbound. Unable to move, look away, or even breath, he was certain time had suddenly stopped. He saw the unmistakable lust in Stuart's eyes… and, more importantly, felt it beneath his trembling hand. Frozen in fear, he simply stared.

Unable to maintain even the slightest modicum of composure, Stuart breached the minute space between them as he gripped Vince's waist with his free hand and crushed their lips together in a dizzying kiss. Unsure of his next move, Stuart's mind was quickly made up when the moan that escaped Vince became audible. 

With a sound that was nothing short of sensuality personified, Vince continued to unknowingly seduce Stuart with the sexy whimpers and kitten-like mewls that escaped his throat.

Stuart pressed even closer, pushing Vince up against the back of the chesterfield, and began to rhythmically rock his hips against an answering hardness.

The coursing heat that had permeated every pore on his body – every fibre of his being –incinerated the iota of reason to which Vince so desperately tried to cling. He buried his hands in Stuart's glossy curls and returned his friend's kiss with greedy abandon.

"So bloody perfect," managed Stuart as Vince lowered his mouth to taste the delicate flesh of his throat. A shiver crept through Stuart and a primal moan erupted from deep within his chest as Vince trailed a searing path of kisses and licks toward the top button of his silk shirt. Clever fingers deftly untucked and unbuttoned while Stuart realised he was being a far too passive participant in this erotic dance.

Reaching out to card his fingers back through Stuart's hair, Vince was stopped as determined hands gripped his wrists and stilled his movements. Bright blue eyes searched his face while an almost-shy grin smiled back at him.

"A ghrá mo chroi agus anam," whispered Stuart as he claimed Vince's lips in a kiss that Vince feared would surely stop his heart. He had no clue what Stuart had just said to him, but he was certain that it was the most beautiful and erotic-sounding thing he'd ever heard or would ever hear again.

Making quick work of Vince's shirt, Stuart used one hand to unbuckle the belt at Vince's waist while the other unzipped his pants and pushed them past his hips, letting them pool around his ankles. Vince broke their kiss long enough to step out of the offending garment and treated Stuart to similar handiwork.

Stuart shrugged out of his open shirt and lunged at Vince, toppling them both back onto the huge, inviting bed. 

"Gawd, Vince!" Stuart gasped as he straddled his best friend's hips, "look at you." He began to rock his hips, groaning at the contact he created as their cocks rubbed together.

Vince was lost in sensation and could only moan and lift his hips as Stuart removed his boxers. He watched, through hooded lids, as Stuart got rid of his own shorts and began nibbling and licking at Vince's thighs.

Continuing his tortuous ministrations, Stuart grazed his teeth along the sensitive flesh of Vince's inner thighs and, as Vince wantonly allowed his legs to spread further apart, he sank in his teeth and moaned aloud.

"Stuart… gawd, Stuart," moaned Vince as Stuart sucked greedily – no doubt marking Vince's tender, pale skin. With that carnal realisation, Vince moaned even louder as his hips began to thrust of their own accord.

Stuart stilled Vince's movements and gently lifted his knees. He lowered his face and nuzzled at Vince's groin, allowing his friend's heady scent to wash over him; he felt Vince tremble as he took his first tentative taste. Stuart allowed his tongue to slowly map the entire length of Vince's engorged cock and took the head into his mouth to gently suck away the glistening drops of precum that had begun to form.

Feeling his world shrink to exclude everything but his cock and the sensations being created around it by Stuart's talented mouth, Vince shivered and moaned as he writhed uncontrollably. "OhmygodStuart," he rasped in one sucking breath.

"Feels good, yeah?" Stuart's breath caressed Vince's overheated balls. "This'll feel even better," he promised as his tongue bathed Vince's tightened sac and darted further back to slowly taste the entrance to his lover's trembling body.

Stuart's tongue worked a teasing pattern of licking and thrusting, driving Vince into a gasping frenzy.

"Stuart," he panted, "I can't… I'm… oh gawd! Stuart — now! It has to be now!"

Feeling Vince's nearly incoherent frustration, Stuart reached for the bottle of lube he'd stashed earlier in the nightstand drawer and slicked up Vince's already-relaxed hole. Using his last ounce of restraint he managed to roll a condom onto his straining erection and give himself a few careful strokes with the scented oil.

As he lifted Vince's legs to his shoulders, Stuart gazed down at his friend's lust-filled, golden face. Pure, unadulterated bliss stared back at him. And something more. Something stronger. Something forever. All the love in Vince's soul stared back at him and Stuart felt his heart lurch at the onslaught of emotion he felt.

With one slow, purposeful thrust, Stuart breached Vince and entered him completely for the very first time. Placing his palm against Vince's flushed cheek, Stuart stilled his hips and waited for Vince's eyes to flutter open.

Vince gazed up at Stuart and saw a look he couldn't quite comprehend. Afraid to speak, he simply placed his own hand over Stuart's and smiled, ever so hesitantly.

"A ghrá mo chroi agus anam, Vince. A ghrá mo chroi agus anam," Stuart whispered as he lowered his mouth once again.

Lips and tongues tasted while hands explored tingling, sweat-drenched skin. Stuart thrust into Vince again and again as their moans filled the room.

No longer capable of coherent speech, Vince moaned from deep within his throat and chanted Stuart's name like a mantra.

As his own body came closer to its pinnacle, Stuart felt Vince stiffen beneath him as he screamed out his orgasm.

Feeling Vince's body tighten around him was all Stuart needed to join him in his rapture.

"Ah Vince— fuuuuuuuuuuuck…"

Stuart slumped forward onto Vince, allowing their bodies to remain joined. But as their pulses and breathing finally started to slow, Stuart moved to pull his softened cock from Vince's tender arsehole.

"Stay. Please," Vince managed, running his hands up and down Stuart's body, finally settling one hand upon his ass and the other in the small of his back.

"No one's ever made me cum like that, Stuart. Without even touching my cock," Vince admitted, a slight blush tingeing his face.

"Really?" Stuart smiled down at him, finally needing to shift his weight and separate their bodies. 

Leaving one thigh lazily draped across Vince's legs, Stuart cuddled in close and buried his face in Vince's neck. "You're fantastic, Vince," Stuart whispered as he snuggled closer still and slipped under Morpheus' spell.

Vince tangled his fingers through Stuart's disheveled curls and ignored the inner voice that was telling him now would be the perfect time to panic. "Love you, Stuart," he whispered after he realized his beautiful Irish imp was out cold. And placing a gentle kiss on Stuart's forehead, Vince joined him in sleep.

  
** ...TBC**


End file.
